My Compliments to the Chef
by StephWestern
Summary: After stopping off for cake, Kurt "Can't-Cook" Hummel meets talented cook Blaine by chance and, under the insistance of Mercedes, takes up cooking lessons with him. What's that saying again? The way to a man's heart is through his stomach? AU.
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

_35 minutes_- the time it took to produce a batch of Flapjacks

_45 minutes_- the time it to produce Bruschetta

_195 minutes_- the time it took to produce Beef Wellington, Mushroom Duxelles and Asparagus

_30 minutes _- the time it took to reduce the mixed root vegetables cooking in my oven to charcoal

_15 minutes- _the time it took produce a litre of Mojito mix (and drink it all and get filthy drunk)

_50,400 minutes_- the time it took for me to realise I am head over heels in love with Blaine Anderson


	2. Cake

**Cake **

It all started with cake.

When your heavily pregnant best friend stops you in the middle of the street and tells you she wants cake and she wants it _now, _it is always in your best interest to take her to the nearest place that will sell you cake and _give her some_. Trust me on this folks and heed my advice.

"Kurt, I'm telling you. If I don't get some carrot cake in me this minute, I'm going to go all hormonal pregnant bitch-woman on your ass."

I looked at Mercedes and gave her my best 'bitch please' look but she matched my stare stonily and, don't tell anyone this, but I was pretty afraid of her in that moment. I had seen her freak out on her husband, Sam, at dinner the other night when her steak wasn't in front of within fifteen minutes of ordering. As hilarious as I found it, I think if the full force of her wrath was directed to me I would have run a hundred miles in the opposite direction.

"You don't care where you get this cake, do you?" Mercedes just grabbed my hand in reply to my question, and dragged me through the door of a little café we were passing.

"I'm going to grab this table," she said as she took our shopping bags from me and placed them by the table she'd selected by the window, "you go and sort us out some cake, white boy."

I saluted her and shot the man who was giving me a sympathetic look from the table to the right of me a grin.

"Get a move on Kurt. I needs me some C-A-K-E," Mercedes called after me as I approached the counter and the glass display cabinet containing all the delicious, baked-on-the-premises goods. Taped on the inside of the inside of the cabinet was an advertisement, handwritten in punchy block print-

WANNA LEARN HOW TO COOK?  
>ASK FOR BLAINE- JUST $40 A LESSON<br>CONTACT NUMBER- *** **** ***

I smiled to myself when I spotted the large smiley face which had been drawn beside the text and then jumped slightly as someone barged through the swinging doors from what I could only assume was the kitchen.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I hope you haven't been waiting long," a guy was rambling as he took his apron off, his back to me. "Kelly was in a right old mess in the kitchen- jeez the amount of times I've had to show her how to make flaky pastry; unbelievable. Now, what can I get for you?"

He spun round and a slight smirk threatened to show when I saw that he had flour along one cheekbone and a little on the side of his nose.

"Um, one piece of carrot cake and a small flapjack with an iced tea and a grande non-fat mocha please," I said as I reached into the pocket of my trousers for my wallet.

"That makes $12.98 please," the guy said with a smile. It made a nice change to be served by someone so chipper and polite. So many baristas in the City had a face as if there was something disgusting under their nose all the time.

"That's a gorgeous watch. A Rolex?" The guy gave my watch an appreciative look as he took the money from me. I smiled fondly as withdrew my arm and looked at the watch.

"Yes, actually. A gift from my father. It was a birthday come leaving gift when I moved here for college."

"Oh, you aren't an original New Yorker?" The guy handed me my receipt and went about getting the orders. I heard Mercedes clear her throat from the table and shot her a look that clearly said,_ be patient. _

"No, no. I've always wanted to live here but I'm originally from Lima, Ohio."

"Well, this _is _a small world. What are the chances of running into another former resident of Ohio in a city as big as this, huh?" It was then that I noticed the _Buckeyes _shirt the guy was wearing and though I am not a big fan of football or really sports in general, my stepbrother Finn is.

"What are the chances?" I repeated.

"Yeah, I'm originally from Westerville. Moved to the Big Apple with dreams of a recording contract or a role on Broadway, like so many others. Such a stereotypical story for a barista, right?" He chuckled.

"Ugh, where were you when I was sixteen? We could have been _best friends!_" I winked as the guy handed me the tray with my order on. "I always wanted to be on Broadway."

The barista laughed. It was a light hearted sound and made me want to join in.

"KURT!" Mercedes snapped and I flinched slightly.

"Well, my scary pregnant best friend has decided she's waited long enough for her cake!" I said cheerily and the barista waved with a small smile on his face in Mercedes' direction.

"Enjoy!" He called as I walked away.

"I plan to, if it ever gets here!" Mercedes snapped. "Hurry up, Porcelain." I rolled my eyes at the nickname she'd stolen from my high school coach.

"Okay it's here, it's here," I said as I reached the table and Mercedes eyed the cake hungrily. She grabbed her plate and immediately tucked in leaving me to unload the rest of the tray.

"Don't forget to drink all of that iced tea. It's important that you keep your fluids up, especially in this heat," I reminded her as the warm August air drifted through the open door.

"After," she said through a mouthful of cake. I gave her a disgusted look. "I'm sorry, this is just so good."

I nibbled at my flapjack. Her eyes widened when she saw it in my hand and gulped down her mouthful of cake quickly before she burst out laughing.

"Oh my God, Kurt, do you remember that time when you tried to make flapjacks? When was that? Second year of college?"

"'Cedes it wasn't that funny," I said, my eyes narrowing at her. I should have known she was going to bring the flapjack incident up.

"Kurt, you burnt them to a crisp and set off the fire alarm for the_ whole_ building. It was _that _funny," she said.

"Well at least I'm better now," I said, holding my head high. Mercedes snorted and gave me a look.

"Honey, you are the worst cook I know. You burn _everything_. Have you ever tried cooking for Rory?"

"I might have done. But it's not a story that you are ever going to hear," I replied.

"I'll get it out of him, you know I will." Mercedes smirked and I sighed. She would. Ever since I had introduced her to Rory a few months ago, the two of them had been thick as thieves.

"Well, I'm not as bad as I used to be. I don't live off of take out," I shuddered slightly at the thought, "and I'm still alive, right?"

"You live off of salads, my cooking and eating out. Just think of all the extra money you'd have to buy lovely, pretty clothes if you didn't spend so much money on expensive meals out! Besides, once the baby comes I'm going to have less time to myself and I won't be able to feed you all the time..."

"So what do you expect me to do? I had already planned for that by cutting back on heating and my clothes fund and dedicating more of that money to eating out because you know Rory is just as awful as me and-"

"Learn to cook," Mercedes said simply and took a sip of her iced tea.

I chocked slightly on my coffee.

"What? 'Cedes you know I do _not _take instruction well.

"It's about time you learnt Kurt and you know it." She looked down and her face lit up. "And now you have the perfect opportunity to get lessons. Someone who works here gives them!"

"Oh my God! Have you been planning this? Is this why you brought me in here?"

"No! I didn't know before I came in here but I literally just spotted this!" She grabbed another handwritten flyer from where the menus had been placed on the table. "What are the chances, huh?"

"Yeah, what _are _the chances?"

"Do it, Kurt! You've always picked things up easily. Wouldn't it be nice to finally cook Rory a meal without messing it up?"

"Well-"

"These lessons are cheap and cooking is a basic skill you need to have down, boy!"

"But I-"

"Kurt get up to that counter and ask about," she looked at the flyer again, "this Blaine person!"

I finished the last of my coffee, shot Mercedes a dark look and walked up to the counter.

"Um, hi again," I said and the barista turned around and grinned at me.

"Hello, fellow former resident of Ohio!" He winked. "How did your friend like her cake?"

"I think she enjoyed it. She ate it fast enough, anyway. My flapjack was good too. Compliments to the chef!" I cried and scratched my collar bone, feeling a little awkward. The barista seemed to watch the action and then he was looking at me smiling again.

"Well, thank you very much," he said with a happy grin.

"Wait- you made them," I asked.

"I make a lot of the stuff here. Cooking is a passion of mine and the extra pay is nice too. I also-"

"Give lessons. You're Blaine," I finished and he nodded with a smirk.

"You want them?"

"Apparently I need them," I sighed. He laughed and reached into his pocket.

"Here's all my contact info," he said as he handed me a card. "Give me a call and we'll work something out."


	3. Flapjacks

**Flapjacks**

"No, Amy what are you- don't put the eggs in yet! It's not ready. No, don't worry about it. I'll just go from scratch."

"Um, hi?"

"Could you put the dishes in the basin and then come and observe while I fix this mess okay?" There was a slight pause and I could hear so clattering on the other end of the line. "Sorry about that, this is Blaine."

"Hi, I don't know if you remember me. I was in the shop the other day with my pregnant friend. I'm Kurt... we were going to sort something out about cooking lessons."

"Kurt! Hi! I was hoping you'd call!" I could hear something electrical over the phone and Blaine's voice was slightly raised when he continued talking. "So, you definitely want my help?"

"Yes. Definitely; I need to learn at some point, right? I came up with a day which would be best..."

"Well if you aren't doing anything tonight, I'm free. Normally I give lessons at my apartment, would that be okay?" There was a loud crash on the other end of the line and I winced. "Sorry, I dropped the phone!"

I laughed lightly as I opened my diary. It would probably work better if I had the lessons at Blaine's place anyway. That way, I could surprise Rory with my cooking skill after the lessons. Cook him something nice on our anniversary...

"Kurt?"

"Oh sorry, yeah that's fine."

"Awesome! I'll text you the address. Show up around six," he questioned and I nodded stupidly before realising that he couldn't see me.

"Okay, that sounds good. Thanks, Blaine."

"It's really no problem at all."

I smiled to myself as I hung up the phone as I found myself genuinely looking forward to my evening of acquiring some cooking skill. My phone vibrated a moment later, the screen displaying Blaine's address, adorned with a smiley and several exclamation marks. It was then that the thought came to me and I hit reply.

_I don't know what you have planned for my first lesson but I'd like to make a request... help me make some flapjacks?_

I put my phone to one side and gathered Blaine must be busy cooking since it stayed silent. I was up to my eyeballs running errands for my bitch boss: editing the pieces that she should have been editing for the newest issue of the magazine and picking up the latest outfits from different fashion houses all over the city. Moreover, it was only just one o clock in the afternoon. I placed my head in my hands and rubbed my eyes, willing the headache I could feel coming on to go away. To say I was stressed would be an understatement.

"Knock, knock," a voice said from my doorway and I looked up, surprised to see Rory holding a brown paper take out bag in one hand and two coffees in the other.

"Hello, you!" I said, standing up to greet him with a kiss before he sat down on the couch across from my desk.

"I knew you wouldn't have eaten so I thought I'd surprise you! Are you surprised?" He grinned, his kind eyes crinkling at the sides. I leaned in and kissed his smiling mouth lightly.

"Pleasantly so. Please tell me there's chocolate in here," I said, opening the bag rested on his lap.

"Tough day?" He asked as I pulled out the food and grabbed the chocolate brownie, ripping into the packaging quickly.

"You have no idea. Belinda," I lowered my voice and shot a quick look towards the door joining her office to my, smaller, assistant's office, making sure it was shut, "is being simply awful. I don't know what the hell has her panties in a twist, but she needs to get over it and do her job properly so I don't have to keep covering for her."

Rory looked at me sympathetically as he ate chewed on his bagel. I huffily broke a piece of brownie off and practically inhaled it.

"Hey, don't get so worked up. Maybe this is how you'll get noticed- those guys higher up might see that she's inadequate and see all that talent and potential you have. You never know, Kurt," he smiled encouragingly at me.

"I hope you're right," I sighed and reached for my coffee.

"So I was thinking; why don't I come over tonight? Help... work out some of that tension," he said, eyes roaming over my chest and up to my lips.

"Mmm, as _fun _as that sounds, I'm afraid I have a prior engagement." He stared at me, disappointment evident on his face. "It's a work thing," I added for good measure.

"Are you sure you can't get out of it?" His foot started stroking my calf and he was flashing bedroom eyes at me like there was no tomorrow.

Now, for some reason crazy reason, I turned down sex with my tall, handsome, horny boyfriend in favour of a cooking lesson where I was probably going to humiliate myself in front of a relative stranger.

"I'm sorry, Rory," I said and he pouted. I grabbed his tie and tugged him closer to me. "Tomorrow, maybe." I tilted my head and kissed his jaw. I felt him shudder next to me as I reached that spot just below his earlobe and I knew I was forgiven.

Now, forgive me if you disagree, but when meeting a relative stranger at their apartment for cooking lessons and arriving to a door that is ajar and Michael Jackson's 'Earth Song' being blasted at full volume so it can be heard from down the hall is a little worrying.

Now, imagine the look on my face when I pushed open the door after receiving no reply after knocking and calling into the apartment. I was sure I was either going to walk into the wrong apartment or find a disgusting, bloody murder scene in front of me. (I like CSI, don't judge me). What I found instead was far more shocking.

Blaine was dressed in a faded Buckeyes shirt and blue striped bowers. One of his grey ankle socks had a hole in the toe. And he was currently sliding about on the hard wooden floor in his living room, eyes closed and holding a wooden mixing spoon to his mouth as if it were a microphone and screeching the lyrics into it.

"Hey, WHAT ABOUT YESTERDAY?"

A skinny Latina girl dressed in nothing but her socks and some skimpy black underwear slid into view and provided the backing lyrics of, "What about us?" She completed it with pleading, questioning gestures directed at the ceiling and at Blaine.

"WHAT ABOUT THE SEAS?"

"What about us?"

There was some dramatic air grabbing included now and I folded my arms as I leant against the doorframe, thoroughly enjoying the show now.

"THE HEAVENS ARE FALLING DOWN!"

"What about us?"

"I CAN'T EVEN BREATHE!"

"What about us?"

"WHAT ABOUT APATHY?"

"What about us?"

So sue me, I let them carry on. It was hilarious. This does not make me a bad person. This does not make a bad person. This does not make me a bad person.

"BURNT DESPITE OUT P-LEEEEEEEEAS!" Blaine dropped to his knees and spun a little so he was facing my direction. I wish I had had a camera on me just for that moment. It was like something from a movie, when people notice that they have been watched and the camera zooms in on their face and their eyes widen in slow motion.

"Holy shi- K-Kurt!" He tried to stand quickly but his socks slipped on the floor and he fell backwards onto the rug where his coffee table rested. I placed a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle laughter ineffectively and his hand grabbed about on the coffee table until he found the remote for the stereo and switched the music off.

The girl was watching with an expression that was as amused as my own, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she was standing practically naked in front of a complete stranger.

"I'm so sorry, it's half six isn't it? Ugh, I promise I didn't forget. I just got a little bit..."

"Distracted?" I finished for him, my eyebrows raised. I couldn't keep the smile from my face.

"Blaine loves him some MJ," the girl said and walked towards me, hand outstretched. "I'm Santana."

I shook her hand and tried desperately to keep my eyes on her face and not let them stray. I may be gay, sure, but it seems it is programmed into all humans that when people are wearing very little clothes that eyes are just attracted to the most inappropriate places.

"Kurt."

"Okay. Well, now that we're all introduced and what not, I think I'll go and put some clothes on. I can tell I'm making you uncomfortable," she said and sauntered away to what I assumed must have been the bedroom.

"Okay, much appreciated, much... appreciated," I trailed off quietly feeling much more awkward now the laughter and noise had died out. I turned my eyes to Blaine who was standing looking like he wanted to be abducted by aliens right there and then.

"Do you, uh, want to go through to the kitchen and I'll be through in just a moment. I need to..." He gestured to his bottom half.

"Oh, of course," I said and walked over to the kitchen that was adjoined to the living room. The kitchen was a smallish room but was only made to look smaller by the table that had been placed in the middle. Upon it equipment and ingredients were set out ready for use and I couldn't help but smile as I thought about the look on Mercedes' face when I presented her with the batch of flapjacks I was about to make which I would ensure, well Blaine would ensure, were perfect.

"Sorry about that," Blaine's voice drifted into the kitchen before he walked in himself. "I had MJ's album on while I was preparing everything and I went off to change clothes and Santana was getting ready to go out and we just kind of got distracted and started rocking out."

"It's fine, Blaine. No need to apologise to me!" I said, smiling brightly. "Shall we get started?"

"Sure! Uh, you mind if I put some music on. It won't be Michael Jackson so don't worry," he laughed and I nodded.

"Go ahead!" He moved back into the living room and a few seconds later, the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra was playing softly. "Interesting choice," I commented as he walked back into the kitchen.

"Do you like him?"

"I do. I don't listen to him very often, though. Maybe I should," I said.

"Hmm, he is _awesome,_" Blaine said as he dragged a saucepan toward us across the table. "Okay, so I've already measured everything out. We've got two hundred grams of unsalted butter," he put that in the pan, "and two hundred grams of sugar which we add, followed by two hundred grams of honey. We need to heat this until all the butter has melted and all the sugar is dissolved. I already switched the oven on to pre-heat to 350F so don't worry about that." I nodded and moved with him to the hob. "You can stir," he smiled at me and I took the wooden spoon from him. "Just keep it moving so that the sugar doesn't burn, okay?"

I heard heels clacking on the floor of the apartment and then the girl from earlier, Santana, was in the kitchen too. I looked her over as I absently stirred the mixture. She was hot, that was undeniable, but not the type of girl I would have expected someone like Blaine to go for.

"Something smells fattening," she said and Blaine turned away from the mixture to face her.

"We're making flapjacks!" He looked unnervingly childlike with wide eyes and an even bigger and brighter smile. Santana regarded him with an affectionate look before grabbing some keys from the counter beside her.

"Well, I'm off out. Have fun boys. Don't let the _student,_" she gave Blaine a look, "burn the apartment to the ground, B." Blaine laughed and she turned and made her way to the door.

"Have fun!" Blaine called and she poked her head back into the kitchen.

"You too," she winked and then left. I looked at Blaine who gave me a toothless smile, his cheeks slightly pink.

"Your... girlfriend?"

Blaine's eyebrows rose. "Roommate. I'm, uh, not her type. Not to mention the fact that I'm one hundred percent gay." He smiled and scratched the back of his neck, where a sweet little curl was resting on the golden skin there.

"Oh, I didn't mean to assume. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Kurt," he smiled. "Oh crap! We have to take this off the heat! Looks done to me!" He took the saucepan off the hob and placed it on the table again, on a tea towel. "Okay, so pour in the porridge oats- there's four hundred grams there- and we just need to stir this in. Do you want to do it?"

"Um, sure," I took the spoon from him and stirred, making sure I coated all the oats in the butter, sugar and honey.

"And here," he poured something else in. "It's fifty grams of glace cherries, some chopped crystallised ginger and some mixed dried fruits. It'll give some interesting flavour."

"Awesome. So I realise we need to put this mixture into that baking tin."

"Yes we do."

"Can you do it? I won't get it level and I want these to be perfect so I can wow Mercedes with them," I pleaded and Blaine rolled his eyes with a grin.

"You don't think you'll get it perfect?"

"I know I won't," I replied.

"Well how about you do it and I just... help you?"

"Um," I paused and looked at him uncertainly.

"I promise that if you feel like it's going badly, I'll take over and make it all perfect for you," Blaine grinned.

"Okay..."

"Great," Blaine said and handed me a large spoon and some kind of tool that I guessed would help smooth and level the mixture. He moved so he was standing slightly behind me and placed a hand over mine which was holding the spoon. He helped me spoon the mixture into the baking tin, his hand moving mine like a puppeteer. I could feel his breath coming out in warm little puffs on the back of my neck as he concentrated on getting it right.

"Okay, now we just spread and smooth like this," he said. "Drop the spoon and grab that." I picked up the tool he had handed me earlier. Together we smoothed out the mixture until I was satisfied.

"It should level out more as it cooks, right?" I asked.

"See, you aren't as clueless as you think!" Blaine said, his voice loud in my ear and reminding me of our close proximity. "This looks great. I'm sure you could have done this by yourself. You should have a little more faith in yourself."

Then he moved away from me, cool air filling the space where his warm body had been, to put the flapjacks in the oven.

"So," he started after he had set the timer. "You wanna continue the cooking theme and watch some Masterchef as we wait for these to be done?"

"I'd love to," I replied with a smile.


End file.
